


It Takes A Long Time To Understand Nothing

by AluraEmbrey



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 05:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AluraEmbrey/pseuds/AluraEmbrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uther Pendragon is not a stupid man, nor an uninformed one. The prophecy of the Once and Future King and Emrys, of Arthur and Merlin, is not unknown to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Takes A Long Time To Understand Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the MerlinxArthur LJ Fic Challenge. My first Merlin fic, I hope I was able to do these guys justice. Love and thanks to my beta abjusticc, for helping me work through plot issues even while on vacation. <3

When Uther had been a young king, high on power and feeling unstoppable, there was little that could calm his energies. Life was simply too good for him to pause. There was so much that a king must take care of, but he could handle it all, and handle it all gladly, because Camelot was his to rule and cherish. He would stop for nothing and no one save one: Igraine.

With her beautiful golden hair and no nonsense smirk, she was the only one that could ever make the young man see reason. Camelot loved their Queen. She was lovely and just, calm and wise, a perfect balance for their sometimes manically energised King. But the people were happy to have peace and a steady ruler. They were happy to have the Pendragons and the Pendragons were happy to have them.

\-------

The citadel and countryside were alight with the life and feel of magic, common people and nobles both buying poultices and potions in the marketplace. Because this is the time when Camelot was home to the Old Religion, a time when it was not so very old, a time not so very long ago. King Uther is not quite so young and restless anymore. Settled into his role as ruler and listening with more care as people plead their cases before him. He spends his evenings reading reports from his men at the borders, ever mindful that he had usurped power, so could someone else.

But his nights he spends with Igraine. Their bed the only place he can truly take off the crown and simply be; sacred time for man and wife.

“I’m sorry.” Igraine said one night, when he was nearly on the verge of sleep. He opened his eyes a bit to look into his wife’s face. The moonlight made her light hair seem to glow and he was struck dumb by the sight. It took him a moment to even remember why he was still awake.

“What do you mean?”

The woman smiled sadly, raising a hand to ghost over his cheek. “I fear that I will one day not be enough.”

“Nonsense.” Uther said without even a beat for thought. Sillier words had never been spoken. “You are everything I will ever need.”

The two stared at each other for a moment, simply taking each other in and he did not like the look in his wife’s eye. He had seen that look on Seers and Druids before, the look of someone that felt the burden of knowing too much. Placing his arm around Igraine’s waist, he pulled her flush against him and placed a kiss upon her brow. She was no Seer, so there was nothing to fear. He would not be frightened by the whimsy of so-called woman’s intuition.

\-------

“Your Majesty, the emissaries from the Druids have arrived.” Sir Gillian reported to the king, his head bowed in respect. Uther looked up from the report that sat on the table and gestured towards his manservant. Without asking or saying a word, the man began to clear away the papers, taking them back to the King’s chambers.

“Send them in.”

Sir Gillian nodded, bowing once before turning to open the grand doors. Uther stayed in his seat at the council table and watched the possession of men that entered. There were four of them total, all in cloaks and clothes that clearly spoke of their lower stature and different way of living. But they did not carry themselves like they believed themselves lowly. No, they held a certain quiet confidence in their walk, the sort that only having magic could produce.

Before he could wonder why four men were necessary for this meeting, the king realised that the two in the back were carrying a chest. Though, carrying was probably the wrong turn. The chest seemed to float between the two men, whom each had a hand out, as if they were levitating their own side. They probably were.

Uther turned his eyes easily away from the display magic and instead looked at the older man in front. The four men stopped at the far end of the table and only then did they look up.

“Greetings, King Uther. I am Amalric, leader of the Druids. I bring with me information I feel should be imparted upon the leader of Camelot.”

“Information? Of what sort?” Uther asked, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat.

“Yes, King Uther, a prophecy, one that would change the course of time, if you let it.”

The king gestured for the men to sit and they did so, but not before placing the chest gentle down on the table before Uther. He eyed the chest wearily, wonder what sort of props they much need to relay a message of this sort. He’s seen magicians use a variety of instruments to tell fortunes. Cards and crystals in various shapes and shades. But what did the druids use?

“Before we can give you this prophecy, it is important that we caution you.” Amalric said, his eyes boring straight into Uther’s. It was not often that one made direct contact with the king, only Igraine and a few select nobles ever dared. But the druid leader did not seem to have any qualms about it, and in his green eyes Uther saw a power that sent shivers down his spine. Not that he would ever allow this man to know that. He was king, not Amalric.

“The knowledge of prophecy and Sight is hazy at best. Even the most powerful of our kind are often wrong about its true meaning. Those that try to change or hasten it along are often punished by the future itself. We tell you this to caution you, Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot, you are the starting point of destiny. There are many that would have me not tell you, but I feel that the knowledge we druids have is vital to your role in the future. Do you heed my warnings, King of Camelot?”

It took a moment before Uther could even contemplate answering. The worlds were too busy swirling in his mind, a stream of _destiny, prophecy, Sight_ mixing and increasing in his mind, a larger than life picture, even if he had no details. His heart beat faster in his chest, as if his body could feel destiny trying to creep up on his this very moment. The knowledge that he was going to be given such power as to know the future dancing inside him, enticed him and he found himself needing to take a deep, soothing breath before he could gesture at the man to continue.

Amalric simply nodded at the king, his expression funny, before turning to the men on his right. Without words, the two that had carried the chest stood and opened it with a wave of their hands. From inside, they lifted a stone basin, heavy and covered in runes of a language Uther will never know. The two place it directly in front of him and once it rests he can see that it is full of water. He glances around the table and sees that not a drop spilled, though it is filled nearly to the brim. Magic does great things.

“Cearl.” Amalric said and the fourth druid stood, even as the other two resumed their seats.

“This prophecy was first foretold many winters ago, by the Seer Genith.” The last man, Cearl, said as he reached towards the basin. He put a single finger into the water and began to stir slowly. “It tells of a great high king, the Once and Future King, that will bring magic and peace to the land in a time of great need. At this king’s side would be a great sorcerer, the one called Emrys: the most powerful sorcerer to grace the lands. And with his help, the Once and Future King will be the greatest king to ever live, he will unite all of Albion.”

Uther wanted to scoff at this. Uniting the kingdoms was something even he would never attempt, it would be impossible, nearly stupid. But the druid looked sincere. No, he looked nearly reverent. His eyes were half closed as he spoke, eyes on the water, even as he so carefully spoke each word.

“On the eve of your crowning as King of Camelot, the gods of the Old Religion honoured me with a vision of my own. A vision of how this great prophecy shall unfold.”

“And what does this have to do with me?”

Cearl smiled almost condescendingly and took his finger out of the water finally. Not a drop remained on his finger; instead the water was continuing to spin on its own. “Look into the waters and see.”

Sceptical would be the word that described Uther as he looked towards the swirling liquid. They had already said that the prophecy was not about him. Yet Cearl claimed to have gotten the prophecy on the eve of his becoming king. Surely that meant something. His thoughts were so heavy that he barely heard the words that Cearl spoke next.

“ _Dadlaen Gwira_.” Immediately the swirling of the water stopped. Or rather, they didn’t stop; they simply swirled into something else. Images formed in incoherent flashes.

_An older man, probably twenty years his senior, sitting on the throne of Camelot. On his blond head sat an ornate crown, his expression grave as a tall man with black hair and ornate robes stood before him. Words Uther could not hear were passing between the two of them, as a battle map of some kind came to life between them._

_A young boy, a child of no more then maybe five, with blond hair the colour of Igraine’s. He stood before an Uther that looked as if he had aged too soon, though the child clearly didn’t know that. No, the child was young enough to be care free,[making funny faces](http://i574.photobucket.com/albums/ss188/bcmoodtheme/mxaficchallenge7/10.jpg) and grabbing at the petals that drifted in the air._

_Older again, though this time the blond boy could not have been much older than twenty. He stands resolutely before a clearly middle-aged Uther, his expression a mirror of the face that Igraine wears when she will not be swayed. A dark-haired young man the same age stands just behind him. This young man’s eyes seemed defiant, even if his clothes depicted that of a servant’s._

_A[crumbling castle wall](http://i574.photobucket.com/albums/ss188/bcmoodtheme/mxaficchallenge7/13.jpg) was the backdrop of aftermath of a fierce battle. Once more the blon- his son, because that is becoming uncomfortable clear to Uther, is older and bloody. A pool of red is growing around the body, soaking the warlock’s robes as he tried magic that seemed to be purely in vain. [Tears streak down both their faces](http://i574.photobucket.com/albums/ss188/bcmoodtheme/mxaficchallenge7/12.jpg) and the scene, though public and in the middle of blood and bone, is almost too intimate to look upon._

With a gasp, Uther pulled his face away from the water, shocked to find that the water was only a breath away from his face. When had he started to lean forward? He straightened as quickly as he could, schooling his face into something more becoming of a Pendragon, more befitting a king.

“That, King Uther Pendragon, is the vision I received when you were made king of these lands. The vision of your son, the Once and Future King.”

Uther tried to keep his face neutral but he was not entirely sure he was managing it. Him: the father of someone that could unite the entirety of Albion. A feeling of power rushed through his veins, of purpose and ability. The future that he had been planning for his kingdom drastically changing in his mind as he added in the new factor of an heir that would do more than he ever could.

He barely noticed the Druids packing up their strange scrying tool or bidding him a farewell. There was too much to plan.

\-------

The physician’s quarters were fast becoming the most familiar room in the castle for the Pendragons, and Gaius, the court physician, the most frequently seen member of the populace. As they sat waiting, Igraine grabbed Uther’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He looked up at her to see a gentle, reassuring smile on her face. It made his own lips quirk up in response, even if he knew that neither of them really felt all that happy.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness.” Gaius said, giving a bow as he walked into the room. Uther nodded to acknowledge the man, but said little more. He wasn’t here for meaningless chitchat. Something the man could clearly tell. Gaius had always been a practical man, afterall.

“I’m afraid it does not appear that the Queen is with child.”

A crushing silence overtook the room. Igraine’s hand squeezed her husbands, but the man could not be sure that it was in comfort or the search of it. A bird flew past the window; it’s cheerful song a mockery of their pain of loss. For even if the child has not been conceived yet, they still feel the absence of him clearly.

This couldn’t be right, it just couldn’t. How could Igraine not be pregnant? Nearly a year has passed since the Druids revealed the prophecy to the king, but no child has arrived yet. Not even with all the times they have spent trying. Not even with the daily regimens of red clover and raspberry tea with breakfast and stinging nettle teas for lunch. They have done everything that science could think of to create this child, but still he is not born.

“Is there nothing else Gaius? Nothing at all?” Uther said, not at all ashamed to admit that his voice held notes of desperation. He was meant to father the Once and Future King and he would not be tempered in that goal.

Gaius looked down, sadness clearly etched on his face. “There is no more that science can do, Sire. I am very sorry to say.”

“And beyond science?”

The room fell silent again for a moment. Everyone knew that he meant: magic. Could magic help a life to be created in this way? There was not much about magic that Uther understood. It was a skill beyond his ability, but Gaius has been known to dabble before. Surely he must know of some way to increase their chances of conception. Magic could do many things that science could not.

“Magic of the kind would be… powerful. Something far beyond my knowledge and abilities in the Old Religion.”

“And you know of no others?”

The old man was quiet for a moment, the hesitation clear in the way he fidgeted with the papers on the table before him. “Magic of that kind would require a Priest or Priestess of the Old Religion. There is one woman I know of with the knowledge, but Nimueh is…”

“Then you must contact her at once.” Uther found himself on his feet, staring Gaius down. Whatever personal issue he might have with this woman, this Nimueh, he would simply have to put them aside. This was bigger than whatever petty problem the physician had.

“Of course, Your Majesty. I’ll contact her to see if she would be willing to speak with you.”

“Excellent. Make sure to tell her that should she be successful, she will be handsomely rewarded for her efforts and the kingdom would be indebted to her.”

The pause in Gaius’s movements was even more pronounced now, but still the man bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

With a nod, Uther closed the conversation, offering a hand to help up his lady, before leaving the room. Now they need only wait.

A week passed. Then two. By the third Uther was beginning to get anxious. Had this witch blown him off? Declared their problem not her problem? Did she not understand that this was fate and destiny she was toying with? She had not even sent word back saying that something of great importance would detain her, or even to acknowledge that the King of Camelot had contacted her. What sort of woman could this Nimueh be?

Something he could find out one afternoon without warning. The council was discussing the recent harvest when the doors to the hall burst open. In the doorway, was a woman in a blood read dress, her long dark hair falling to frame a face that held eyes that spoke of power.

“What is the meaning of this?” Uther found himself on his feet; hand on the hilt of his sword.

“I am Nimueh, High Priestess of the Old Religion. You must be Uther Pendragon.” The way she said his name lacked the reverence that his position demanded, as if she were unimpressed by the discovery of who was king. He found himself standing straighter, staring her down.

“Yes, I am Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot.”

“Hmm.” The woman said, looking him up and down for a moment.

The two of them stared each other down for a moment before Uther finally looked towards a guard. He nodded, ducking out of the room. “A servant will bring you to your temporary chambers. I will be available this evening to discuss the matter.”

Uther sat back down, clearly dismissing the woman. He turned his attention back towards that council that was looking around in confusion, but that didn’t stop him from watching Nimueh out the corner of his eye. She did not seem phased by the dismissal. In fact, she looked amused, as if his actions were a jester’s.

When a bowing servant led the woman away a minute later Uther shook his head and tutted lightly to the men at his table. “Sorcerers.” They all joined in at the joke.

Later what night, when the council had retired for the night and his wife was back from her afternoon ride, Uther had his manservant fetch the witch and have her meet in the Queen’s Study. Igraine held his hand, as they waited and did not let go when the woman entered. “Your Majesty, Your Highness.”

“Hello, thank you for coming.” Igraine said, rising from her seat and going over to greet the woman. She clasped both of Nimueh’s hands in her own, always a tactile person.

Nimueh looked shocked by the friendly welcome, but recovered quickly. “Well, it is not everyday that one is summoned by the House of Pendragon.”

Uther’s eyes narrowed, not liking how she said that. But he did not rise to the bait, knowing that she was still necessary if he wished to have his son. He watched as Igraine played hostess, guiding her to a seat and offering an array of tea and snacks. He let the woman play their games; they’d get down to the matter at hand soon enough.

“Thank you, Igraine.” Nimueh said, already far too familiar. “But I believe you summed me to Camelot for a reason. What services do you require, especially something that would require a High Priestess?”

The married couple looked at each other for a second before Uther finally spoke. “The matter for which we request your is a private matter, before we continue your discretion must be assured. We came to you because Gaius recommended you but we are wiling to discuss terms of payment.”

“The payment should fit the task, should it not? I’ll need to know what you are asking of me first. There are some things for which even magic should not be used.”

“We wish to conceive a child.” Uther kept is simple; she need not know his reasons for urgency. “A year of trying natural and scientific means has proven to not be effective. Gaius believes that magic may be of use in the situation.”

“You wish to usher forth the Once and Future King.”

The room stilled, the halted breath of the king and queen hung in the air. “How do you know?” Igraine asked.

“The Druids are not the only ones capable of prophecy. The Old Religion has isn’t own ways of making sure that that which must occur comes to pass.” Nimueh paused here, for the first time showing hesitation. Her eyes bore into Uther’s, power evident, but also humanity. “But you must know of what you ask me. Magic comes at a cost, every single bit. Often the cost is so small we do not notice, one bit of potion ingredient for a certain result. But the more powerful the enchantment, the higher the cost, the more magic demands in payment. You are asking me to bring about life, speed along destiny; the price would require an equal level of payment. Are you willing to pay any cost?”

The couple fell silent again. Neither of them knew much of magic. They had seen it used plenty, in drafts crafted by Gaius and tricks done to entertain the court at feasts. But true magic was not something either of them was knowledgeable in. The only cost they had discussed was that of money, how much gold would they pay to bring their child into the world. It had not occurred to either that another payment would be necessary.

But then Uther remembered the prophecy. It showed a powerful man; able to take on Uther himself, then all of Albion and unite it under the Pendragon flag. Also a small boy, golden like his mother with eyes as blue as the sky. It showed a son Uther could be proud of, a dynasty he was the start of, a destiny he was bringing to pass.

Igraine’s hand slipped into his and squeezed. Her answer was clear. Uther looked up, not backing down from the depth of the witch’s eyes. “We are willing.”

\-------

The wail was loud; it bounced off the walls of the Queen’s chambers so much it nearly made the king’s head rattle, but it was beautiful. His son was here, alive and well. Little tufts of blonde hairs already rested atop his head, and he squirmed, muscles already strong, as he demanded their attention without even trying. Uther could already see how this child would be a great leader, golden as he commanded the people around him.

He looked down at Igraine, beautiful, tired Igraine. His wife. The mother of his child. Uther felt his heart begin to melt; it was so full. It had been a hard pregnancy. Moments of fear had sprinkled their lives. Moments when Igraine had been so weak she could not even leave her bed, Gaius and Nimueh bringing her herbs and teas in a steady stream. But it had been worth it, for his moment, for his family, beautiful and embarking on destiny together.

When Gaius placed a newly cleaned baby Prince in Igraine’s arms, Uther was sure he had never seen her look more beautiful, not even on their wedding day. She was going to make a wonderful mother. Their son would be so loved, so strong.

“Hello Arthur.” Igraine said, raising a shaking hand to touch his chubby cheeks. The baby stopped crying immediately, looking wide-eyed as his mother. Content to grab her finger and hold on. “You will be wonderful Arthur, perfect. And not because destiny says so, but because you will demand it of yourself.”

She paused to take a deep breath, tears in her eyes, voice growing faint with emotion. “I love you. Be happy.” Her arms tightened around the baby, as if trying to memorise his feel and Uther felt his heart falter. She was losing colour, her previously rosy, exhausted cheeks pale and bloodless.

“Gaius. Nimueh.” He said loudly. What could have gone wrong? Was this normal for a woman that had just given birth? Perhaps she was simply falling asleep, exhaustion catching up to her. It had been a long sixteen hours.

“Your Majesty.” The court physician said, handing Arthur to the king to hold. He went to work, checking the queens breathing and her heart. It was a silent moment in the room, Arthur pulling on the strings of Uther’s tunic. Oblivious.

“Queen Igraine is… she has passed.”

Another silent moment. “Leave us.” Gaius did not hesitate, placing a hand on Nimueh’s arm as if to pull her along. He caught her eye for just a moment at the door and he saw it: guilt.

Sitting down on the bed, Uther allowed the tears to fall as he turned his attention back towards his son. He was tiny, so fragile like this. Though he knew the man he would become, it was hard to imagine the years of hard work it would take to get him there. Training, lessons, feedings. He was supposed to have a partner by his side, to help him guide his son. But he was alone now. Just him and Arthur and Uther could feel it in his bones that this was not how life was meant to go. Destiny had made a fool of him. No, not destiny, magic.

His body tensed. Yes, magic had done this. Magic had pushed him into a dazed, craze for an heir, had held him hostage till his only recourse had been to rely on its power again. It had taken and taken from him until he was dry and found wanting. This power, this evil, could only corrupt. Not just the men and woman that wield it, but those that would wish to use it for themselves. Because when faced with a dark corner, magic seems to be the only way to find light and who could be strong enough to turn that away, no matter the cost?

No one.

Clutching his son to his chest, Uther continued to weep silently, but he could feel his heart harden. Magic must be eradicated from the land, lest all his people be tempted by the evil fate that he was now enduring. He must protect his people; he must protect Arthur, from magic and especially from themselves.

\-------

“Father, what you’re proposing would be tantamount to murder.”

Uther felt his breath hitch at the words his son spewed at him. He narrowed his eyes at the boy, no man. Before him was a young man. The look in his eye so like the determined one his mother had when she would not be wavered from her stance. It was nearly humorous how much like his mother Arthur was. Some days it was like she had never really left this world.

But most days the hole in his heart where Igraine had once lived ached hallow and empty, singing in his blood reminding him of his past mistakes. Mistakes he could not afford to repeat. So no matter how determined Arthur was, no matter how like the dead queen, Uther would not budge. Uther was King and his word was law.

“While your love for the people is admirable, you must realise that in hard times, hard decisions must be made. The life of a leader is not an easy one. But it is the one that we must live and these are our burden to bear. It is about time you learned that.”

If looks alone could hurt, then Uther was sure he could feel the fist upon his face from the glare Arthur sent him. But he would not be swayed. Uther did not want his people to suffer any more than his son did, but there was only so much food in the reserves, and with this strange dry season going on, some sacrifices must be made. The efforts to get to the outlying villages was not worth the loss in time and precious food they had to work with, that was the simple truth of the matter.

Arthur knew that, he simply had to learn how to live with it.

Uther opened his mouth to speak again, but found only his son’s back. The doors opened and closed and Arthur was gone without even being dismissed. The father sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as if begging for strength. He would speak to Arthur later, once he had some time to cool off. Surely he would drag that useless manservant out with him for a quick hunt or sparing match and be back in his room before dinner. Perhaps he would even catch something that could supplement the meagre meals the entire castle was living with.

Yes, he’d speak to the boy later, for now, he had reports to read.

It would not be for several hours that Uther thought of speaking to his son again. The reports caused his skin to feel tight upon his body, his stomach clenching so that only the bread of his lunch was able to fit. He sent the rest back to the kitchens. Surely they’d make the best of it. It wasn’t until his manservant came into the room to ask if he’d like a fresh glass of water that Uther realised just how late it had gotten. The sun was beginning to make its decent in the sky.

Arthur would be back by now, he best go talk to him. “No, I am fine now. You’re dismissed until dinner.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Michael said, bowing before making his way to the servant’s entrance.

Uther paid him little mind after that though, heading towards the grand entry way and through the castle. The trip to the Prince’s chambers always felt unnecessary long to him. Perhaps because Uther could remember a time when Arthur lived just a couple of rooms away, still in his nursery where the father could visit at all times of night. Just to make sure that the boy was still there, still breathing. It hadn’t been until he reached his tenth year that Arthur moved to these chambers. Stating he was too busy for baby rooms anymore.

A small smile graced Uther’s face at the memory.

The smile fell from his lips as soon as he opened the door to the prince’s chambers. The first thing he noticed was that his son was not back yet. Instead, only his manservant was in the room. The next thing he realised was that the coat of armour sitting on the floor in front of the fire was polishing itself while the servant was instead flipping through the pages of a book.

Everything stopped all at once. The book hit the floor, as did the rag that had been against the armour. Merlin jumped to his feet, bowing lowly and staring at the floor. “Your Majesty.”

“Where is my son?”

“He is…” The servant hesitated, eyes glancing up as he straightened before looking back down again. Fear seemed to radiate from the boy. “Prince Arthur hasn’t arrived back yet, Sire.”

Uther watched the boy for another moment. Watched, as the blue eyes seemed to dart around the room in guilt, as if looking for escapes routes. Every muscle in his body seemed stiff, poised. Thought poised to do what, the king could not be sure.

As for the king, a large part of his mind yelled _sorcerer_ , because surely he had not been mistaken about what he had seen. That rag had been moving itself, no hand near it to guide its movements. He was seeing things or making this up. No, his eyes had definitely witnessed something that could be accomplished only with magic. A power that was wrong and illegal for a very good reason. Yet Uther found himself oddly silent, another part of his mind holding him back, speaking words of caution in his ear. Something about this felt… familiar, unstoppable.

“Have him sent to me as soon as he arrives.” He found himself saying instead, walking out of the room without another word. He stopped just short of the door that closed itself behind him, his mind torn in two, but not so much so that he did not hear the sigh that came from inside the room.

It would be another two days before his son would ride back into Camelot’s gates. Two days of Uther’s rage slowly building along side the anxiety that lived in the pit of his stomach. His only heir, is son, was gone without a word, of course he had worried. The knight’s had been poised to leave at any moment, tense and weary, should a letter of ransom arrive.

For two days Uther imagined the worst of what could happen to his son. And he watched. The only person in the entire castle that had not seemed upset by the sudden random disappearance of their prince was his manservant. Merlin walked around the castle, complete chores even without Arthur there to direct him. He did the prince’s laundry, made his rooms spotless, made extra stock of potions for Gaius and even helped a chambermaid that had not been feeling well to complete here duties.

He did all of this, but no magic. Every piece of clothing was carried by hand, ever herb picked with his fingers. Merlin looked as incompetent and loyal as ever. Certainly, he did not look like a sorcerer with nefarious plans. Then again, neither had Nimueh.

Uther put the boy out of his mind, instead settling down at the table in the hall to read reports. But the dry text of Sir Lidmann could not keep his attention very well. He nearly welcomed the creaking of the doors as they opened, until he saw the look on his son’s face.

“Arthur, you have finally seen fit to return. Are you done with your childish tantrum now?”

His son did not rise to the bait. Instead he glanced over his shoulder, as if looking for patience. It was then that Uther noticed that Merlin was standing there. The look on his face could only be described as defiant and strong. Merlin’s eyes caught the king’s and in that moment he looked no more a servant than Uther. It was a look that the king knew well, the expression of a powerful man that would and could not be swayed.

Arthur turned back around, time catching up with them all. “I have spoken to Barron Roweson in the east and he has agreed to supplement our current reserves in exchange for the chance to have his son’s and nephew train here with the knight’s of Camelot for the time of at least a year.”

Uther was on his feet immediately, outraged at his son. “You dared to go behind my back to…”

“To what, Father?” Arthur asked, eyes narrowed. “To ensure that we have food for our people? To strengthen a bond with a man that could just as easily have sided with Mercia, should a war break out?”

The father and son stared each other down and Uther felt as if the room was too small for them both. A King and a King to be, both too powerful, to willing to fight for their country. Uther was no fool, he knew his time of reigning would come to an end sooner rather than later, his son more a King in the eyes of the people than a Prince. While the crown may be on his head for now, it would be on Arthur’s far too soon. This crown and many more, would be his, the crown of five kingdoms, of Albion, on the head of the Once and Future King.

He blinked, the phrase hitting him strongly. “You are both dismissed.”

The two young men looked shocked about the abrupt change in the conversation. They glanced at each other again, before heading together out the room. “But Arthur, do not think we have finished discussing this.”

He saw his son tense for a moment, before a trace of a pale finger lingered on his hand for a moment. The tension gone instantly, and shortly after, the two of them. Uther, however, sat heavily back down in his chair.

The Once and Future King. He had not thought that phrase in years, had not allowed the words of magic users to taint how he perceived the future. But had he not failed? All of Arthur’s life had been designed to make him the best man one could be, a better man than Uther, a man worthy of Albion.

Yes, without realising, without wanting to, it he had indeed raised the Once and Future King. The visions he had seen over twenty years ago flashed through his mind. Yes, this boy was indeed the one he had seen. Determined, strong and not alone. For where there is the Once and Future King, there must be Emrys. Uther thought of Merlin as he had stood steadfast and loyal behind his song and saw the man that he would become too. He saw too, the heartbreak of the limits of the boy’s magic.

The king could not be sure how long he sat there, the implications of impending destiny circling his mind. Now that he realised who living his castle, it was almost as if Uther could feel fate catching up with him. It loomed over his shoulder like a cloud, waiting, simply for him to die, so that his son could rise to greatest. But it did not push. No, it had no need to, for this was written and nothing that a man like Uther could do would be able to stop it. Hadn’t destiny had already proved that.

Sighing, the man finally stood up and left the hall. The reports would still be there in the morning. Feeling the cloud hovering behind him, he walked the halls of his castle _(Arthur’s castle)_ and headed towards his chambers _(the king’s chambers, Arthur’s chambers)_.

The whisper of voices made him pause as he neared a corner. He slowed his steps, feeling silly slinking around his own castle _(for now)_. But once he got closer he was glad that he had. In the flicking candle light he could just make out the shadows of two people, standing far too close to each other to be anything other than intimate. One was Arthur, he’d recognise his son anywhere, the second body was too tall to be a woman, and the hair too short. Even with Arthur crowding them into the wall, Uther knew it was Merlin.

“I’m surprised he didn’t yell at me more.” Arthur chuckled

“I’m surprised I still have a head.” Merlin whispered, his head looking down. Ah, so he knew that Uther had seen him.

Arthur’s hand moved up to cup the servant’s jaw, lifting his head. “I’m sure he saw nothing. Besides, even if he had, I would never let anything happen to you. You must know that.”

“You weren’t even here, you great prat.”

“I know and I’m sorry, but it need to be done. I couldn’t just let…”

Merlin hushed him with a finger on his lips. “I know. I understand.”

The two stopped speaking them, clearly staring into each other’s eyes. A prickly feeling of embarrassment rose under Uther’s skin. He should not be watching this… this… intimacy. Clearly this moment was meant to be private. He had seen enough. Closing his eyes, he backed away slowly to take the long route to his chambers. The coming of destiny followed close behind.  



End file.
